


breathing you in and drinking you down

by Anonymous



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Mommy Issues, Mommy Kink, Nursing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Oswald has a fantasy he wants to try.  Sofia indulges him.





	breathing you in and drinking you down

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry

Oswald opens up to Sofia like an old book: something fragile that has not had human touch in so, so long.  Something that must be handled carefully.  She reads his pages, pours over them whenever he gives her the opportunity, and she learns a great many things: his childhood.  His love for his mother.  The downright pleasant inflection of his voice when they’re in the middle of a fruitful conversation that has nothing to do with the politics on the street.

The fact that he’s too shy to ask for what he wants when they have sex.

Unlike with Jim, sex is not a major foundation of her relationship with Oswald.  More nights are spent talking and providing platonic, _motherly_ affection than anything else, where she’s gently stroking some worn, tired part of him and whispering quiet words of praise that leave him shaking.  That suits her just fine.  But on those nights where he aches too deep in his chest, when he turns those wet eyes on her that start to kindle a fire of want, she opens her arms to him and says "come here, baby."

He always listens. He always follows her lead, placing his trust in her dirty, red hands.  One day soon, she’s going to have to break that trust.  But for now, she holds it close to her chest, a small, burned little thing that she’ll keep alive as long as necessary.

She doesn’t deserve to have him like this, on his back, pants off and dress shirt askew, mewling as he pitifully pawing at her bare shoulders like he wants something so much but doesn’t know where to even begin.  Sitting upright at his side, she’s fully dressed and rubbing his bare stomach with one hand to soothe him.

She kisses his forehead, murmurs "anything you want, just say the word, Oswald."

It’s equal parts encouragement and command.  Oswald trembles from an innate need to obey.  Satisfaction curls in her chest.

Sofia watches as Oswald clearly struggles with the concept, his lips thinning then gaping and then flattening again, and she can’t help but wonder when the last time he was asked what he wanted, let alone received it. Moments like these chisel away at her drive, make her second guess her motives.

She always had the habit of bringing birds with broken wings to her father.

Oswald mumbles something, the words garbled in his mouth as a warm flush colors his pale cheeks.  Sofia is patient with him in ways she isn’t with Jim.  After all, her job here isn’t to goad a man into a monster, but to help a monster remember that he’s human after all.

She cups his cheek, wipes away a stray tear that pebbles down his face.  When their gaze meets, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen eyes more honest and raw, clear and reflective as glass.

(Those birds almost never survived.)

He tries to speak again, cuts himself off with a fervent shake of his head as the flush burns crimson.  She flashes a soft, loving smile, the kind she thinks his mother might have once given him when he was nothing more than a boy with scraped knees.  

“Oswald,” she purrs, sugary sweet with a warm, honeyed undertone.  His eyes flash.  Some other woman must have spoken to him like this, once.  He comes alive under a strong, warm voice from a woman. “What is our number one rule?  Say it to me.”

Oswald visibly swallows, eyes turning off to the side.  She’ll allow this, for now.

“There’s - there’s no judgement,” he manages, voice pitched soft, like this is a secret that can only be addressed by whispers.

“Ever,” Sofia confirms, keeping her smile pleasant.

Their eyes meet again, and Sofia can see Oswald sizing her up, searching for any sign of ingenuity or mockery.  Despite her deeper, more sinister motives, this, at least, is true.  She’s had to entertain all sorts of desires, sexual or otherwise, from men and women in order to get where she is now: tucked against the King of Gotham, so wanton and vulnerable.  Odds are, whatever Oswald’s fantasy entails will not be something she has not encountered before.

“Can - I’d like - “

Sofia blinks as Oswald tries for words, settles with a grunt of frustration as he lifts his hands.  His fingers dance in front of her chest, where her ample cleavage is on display in her tight, black shirt - and oh _._

Well.  Turns out there’s more to learn about Oswald after all.

Admittedly, this didn’t make her top ten list of desires he may harbor.  He isn’t like Jim, who goes wild at just a suggestive hint of her breasts or the slip of her dress on her thigh.  Oswald’s desires are much simpler, sweeter - and, perhaps, made more twisted by their lack of obvious sexuality.  She doesn’t ask what kind of relationship he had with his mother, doesn’t inquire what lines were crossed, but it’s abundantly clear that a mother’s kindness is what gets him hot, not displays of sensual, feminine skin.

But she told him no judgement, that he could have what he wants, and truthfully?  She is happy to give him this.

So she lets her smile turn devilish, and she swears he turns a new shade of red that only she has seen, it’s so deep, as she maintains eye contact and undoes the buttons of her shirt.  Oswald’s eyes widen, like he can’t believe he’s getting this.  Typical bug-eyed man.

Black-painted nails carefully undo each button, and then she’s opening her shirt, letting him see the lacey black bra he’s wearing.  He doesn’t even look.  Odd.  But she isn’t deterred, keeps watching for his reaction when she reaches for the clasps of her bra, expertly unhooking them by touch alone. She makes a show of slowly pulling off her bra, letting it dangle on one finger, then dropping it to the floor without fanfare.

This entire time, Oswald hasn’t looked at her now exposed breasts _once._

It’s almost sweet.

“Are you okay, baby?” she asks, tries to keep the laughter out of her voice.

Oswald’s panting and wide-eyed, eyes locked on hers and then going somewhere over her shoulder.  He nods, sharp and short.  She smiles again, reaches for one of his hands (cold and clammy, he’s sweating) and slowly brings it up to her right breast.  The moment his fingers brush the tender skin, he’s recoiling like he’s been burned.

“Oswald,” she murmurs, just stern enough to earn his attention. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable or if you don’t want it.”  Sofia Falcone is many things, but she would never push something like this.

“I _do_ want it, that’s the problem,” Oswald spits, coming alive and shooting poison like a cobra, a frightened creature’s defense. 

Sofia reaches for his ankle, rubs tender circles across the mangled skin.  Whenever tensions rise between them, she always goes for his ankle, always goes back to their beginnings.

“I’m yours,” she reminds him, the lie like sour cherries on her tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with what you want.  I want you to have this.”

There’s a stretch of twenty seconds where they do nothing but look at each other and breathe in tandem.  She can see the tension begin to bleed away as he finally pushes up onto his knees, kneeling in front of her like a man ready to pay penance to his goddess.  Sofia matches his position, tries to make him more comfortable.

Oswald inches forward, slow as molasses, his left hand coming to a rest at her shoulder.  She’s still as can be, afraid of startling him away if she moves.  She’s expecting a grope, a twist of her nipple, but instead, Oswald leans in close enough to kiss the top of her breast, nothing more than a shy, reverent brush of his lips.

Sofia isn’t sure which of them gasps.

Courage apparently gained, Oswald shuffles forward, blushing all the way to his ears as his mouth drops lower and lower, finally enclosing around her rosy, hard nipple.  Tongue laps over the pebbled skin, and then he’s sucking her in earnest, groaning deep in his throat like a jungle cat, and Sofia moans in answer, both in pleasure and shock.

_Oh_.  Oh, Oswald.

She cups the back of his head, cranes her head down to press a flurry of kisses against the top of his head.  Oswald latches on even tighter, suckling like he’s drinking from her, like the saliva that drips to the ground is rich milk instead.  

She pulls him closer, feels the unmistakable weight of his half-hard dick against her skirt-clad leg.

Truly a _desire_ for motherly love.

“That’s it, that’s a good boy,” Sofia coos, voice dipping into a moan when Oswald circles his tongue along her nipple at the praise, pressing the flat of his tongue against the bud.  Pleasure shoots down, makes her groin ache.  She shifts to try to offset the sharp arousal, feels the way her skimpy lace panties are now sticky-wet, and _fuck_ , maybe he’s not the only one with a kink.

Her fingers comb through his soft, feathery hair again and again, more comforting a child than the tug of a heated lover.  She can be this for him: a mother who engages in acts no mother should with a son, just to make Oswald feel safe, small, and maybe loved.

“Take what you need from Mommy,” she says, and she knows it’s the right thing to say when Oswald muffles a howl around her breast.  He sucks harder, moans filthily around her.

Sofia allows him to suckle for another minute before her nipple feels too raw from his tongue and eager hints of teeth.  Hands drop to his shoulders, gently pry him off, and his lips release from her with a wet ‘pop’.  When she has his sitting upward, he looks a mess, eyeliner smudged from tears and lips a bright red as he looks torn between fleeing and collapsing from rapture.  Just the thought of why his lips are swollen makes her clench her thighs.

Stroking a hand down his cheek, he feebly moans, licks at her fingers like a kitten.  Baby boy wants so badly to be filled.

Tickling under his chin, she moves until she’s on her back, propped up from the plethora of pillows behind her.  She reaches for Oswald, allowing her expression to soften to something dreamlike.

“Come on, baby.  Mommy’s got more for you,” she croons.

Oswald scrambles forward with a whine, awkward and ungraceful from his inexperience and ferocity of his want.  She’s reminded of one of the newborn puppies on her farm, stumbling blind for its mother’s teat.  There’s a moment’s hesitation when Oswald gingerly straddles her hips and just hovers over her pert tits, but all it takes is curling a hand around the back of his neck, and he guides himself down, latching onto her thus untouched breast.  He’s sloppy from his desire, wetly suckly around her areola and drooling on her like she’s the tastiest meal he’s had.  For all of his eagerness, he finds a good rhythm, and Sofia spreads her legs with a happy moan as she nuzzles back into the pillows, surrenders to the pleasure.  

Time becomes immaterial, the world fading away aside from the soft sounds of his suckling and their breathy moans.  It’s only when he grinds his clothed erection against her does she come back to earth.  She giggles only partly for show, arches her body to push harder into his mouth.

“You need to come, baby?  Just a small one for Mommy?”

Oswald’s absolutely shaking as he groans, and it’s a wonder he’s still upright at all.  He nods fervently, tugging her nipple with his teeth until she hisses.

“Be a big boy and use your words,” she reminds, clacking her nails against his cheek, just a hint of edge to her motherly actions.

Oswald reluctantly releases her, pants warm, hard breath against her soaked breast.  For a moment, she thinks he won’t do it.  But then, in a broken, reedy voice, he all but sobs, “Please, Mommy.”

She bites her lip, feels herself grow slicker between her legs as she reaches between his.  She wraps her hand around the bulge of his erection, grins at the way he moans like a whore.

“Go on, then, baby, get yourself off.  Don’t stop drinking, don’t let any go to waste,” she says.

Oswald clings to her tit like a man dying of thirst, greedily sucking her as he grinds down into her palm.  All it takes is a few swerves of his hips and he’s spilling messily in his underwear, his cry muffled from where he’s gagging on her breast.

He shakes through his orgasm, reluctantly unlatches from her breast with a sigh.  They don’t say anything as he rests her head between her breasts to catch his breath.  Sofia just pets him, ignoring her own need to come in favor of caring for her baby.

Then, so quiet she almost misses it, comes his, “Thank you.”

Sofia twists her fingers through his hair again and again.  “Anything for you.”


End file.
